Short story that I just decided to write to get my creativity flowing again, going through a case of writers block :'( It's just a little story of a woman and her love Bobby, and even when they are old and grey they're not afraid of death because 'love will keep them strong.' It's quite cute, just a quickie, please give it a go:-)


1. Cherry Tree.

What is love, really?

Love isn't just 'that cute thing two people share.' I should know.

Love is a whole lot more complicated.

My name is Bonnie Holt. I was 19 when I first found my first love Bobby. It was back in the 1920's and he was one of those typical lads, blonde hair, blue eyes, cheeky. I liked him.

We went out for a while before he proposed. It was romantic, sat under a cherry tree in Japan, on holiday, when he bought out a ring. It wasn't amazingly expensive, no diamonds, no sparkling jewels, just a plain gold ring. But why should that bother me?

We got married. In fact we got married right there in Japan, under that cherry tree, under a bright yellow sun and green grass. I've seen marriage end in heartbreak, I've seen men and women fall in 'love' with somebody else. 

But me and Bobby were joined together. And I knew it was real love. I let him ask me anything, I let him come with me wherever I wanted. I held no secrets. None of us did. We got through to our 40's, still in love, even though we'd changed and reformed. We'd grew taller and had now halted in growth. Bobby had a bad back so he was a bit crippled, and his beautiful blonde hair was now a light shade of grey. But I still had love.

On our honeymoon, we didn't have to go all glitzy on a honeymoon in France. We simply went back to...guess where? That cherry tree. We sat and we just talked. We held hands. We understood each other as soon as our other half showed a particular emotion.

Now, we're old and both grey. I'm writing this under the tree again, but it's now withered and is merely brown branches with some leaves. But when I hold Bobby's hand, I can feel the sun beating down, the Japanese buzz and I can see the cherries swinging above my head. I feel young and free.

Even when I'm back there, under the withered tree I still feel my love. It doesn't matter how much people change, because if you love that person, it doesn't matter what's happened to a place or a person. You know that your with him or her, and your reliving memories.

So we're old and grey, with a little flask of tea even though its boiling. But we're holding hands and his hands feel smooth and wrinkle-less; even though they're not of course. Love makes me delusional but guess what? Bobby's perfect and I love him.

Love is not just a cute thing you share. It's when you share the same soul, and you stay with that person until you die. I know I'll die soon, but I'm not afraid. Love will keep me strong.

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